


⛥ Ours Is The Power ⛥

by Sa1twaterFish



Category: The Craft (1996)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:41:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25465672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sa1twaterFish/pseuds/Sa1twaterFish
Summary: Sarah is starting her sophomore year of college and realizes the value of something she left behind.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	1. Going It Alone

**Author's Note:**

> **Content Advisory**  
> Twice referenced self harm and attempted suicide, as mentioned in the original film.

#### ⛥ Ours Is The Power ⛥  


###### A Fanfiction for fun & repair  
Now is the time. This is the hour. Ours is the magic. Ours is the power. Now is the time. This is the hour. Ours is the magic. Ours is the power 

Chapter One: Going It Alone 

Back in June, Sarah’s father insisted she live at home during her sophomore year of college, and she put a kind hand on his shoulder and insisted against it. He whined about the cost, but money hadn’t been a noticeable problem for the Bailey family in years. 

He was getting older. Sarah still felt glimmers of her mother through the magic. For Steve Bailey, Norah was as deep in her grave as she’d ever been. He understood fatherhood, he understood Sarah, he understood life on those terms. Being alone with himself, with his second wife that he sometimes wasn’t sure he really knew, and his identity at this stage in life? Uncharted. 

That’s part of why Sarah had to do this. 

The year she graduated, Lirio taught her how to get a reading of other people’s emotions. Her mentor spoke in infuriating little riddles, dolling out truths in vague, flexible nuances. She wanted Sarah to learn things for herself, but she also didn’t want to be responsible for the lessons either. She’d warned Sarah that reading emotions meant experiencing emotions with the subject, and that may not be easy. 

_That’s what she’d said. May not be easy._

She walked through the door and almost collapsed with grief, an acidic rupture of pain and love burning through her blood. Her eyes welled with tears instantly. Her father, aching with loss and love, just smiled and asked how her day was. 

How long had he been living like this? 

When he saw her tears, Sarah felt an influx of concern and distress. 

“Everything okay baby?” 

Her right hand reflexively rubbed the scar on her left wrist, and a new swell of unimaginable terror and pain surged through her. She lost her breath, gasped, then looked at her father. He was petrified. 

She shook her head. “It’s not that! How could you think that? Never again! Never again, okay?” 

She ran to his arms, and felt relief drop through her neck, her shoulders, her stomach. 

“I wasn’t thinking about—I mean. I’m not mad about it, I just worry so much. You know I love you, right?” 

She really hadn’t known, not like that. Not to such relentless, immune capacity. She never knew anyone was capable of love like that, let alone for her. 

“I really wont ever do that again. I’m doing better. I am better.” 

He kissed her head. “That’s what I want to hear.” 

Her father gave her a hopeful smile and suddenly looked otherworldly. She saw traces of a bygone teenage face. He’d been her age once, chasing a mysterious witchy woman in that heady rapture of discovery. He’d danced, explored, read. He’d been his own person before Sarah was even thought of. 

And he’d had it all stolen away the day she was born. 

For that pain, in reparation for putting a razor to her veins when she'd thought she was alone in this world, Sarah decided to live at home for her freshman year. She needed to show him that he wasn’t alone anymore. She needed that for herself too. 

For the first time in her life, the two of them bypassed their usual plastic pleasantries, and actually _talked._ They let in the kind of honesty that left them both better for having heard it. She’d sit in the living room and work on a philosophy assignment, and he'd go into a deep dive about Niche and Leibniz. They made weekend trips up north to the conservatory and they’d spend hours with their eyes in grand lenses, letting their minds leave the Earth. One night, he opened up about losing Norah. 

His hand trembled around a cup of tea. “I should’ve told you a long time ago. Maybe if I had...” 

He looked at her wrists and Sarah shook her head. “It had nothing to do with that.” 

“Yes it did.” He took a deep breath and put the tea cup on the coffee table, “Your mom was in labor for a long time. She was pushing, and suddenly she just started screaming. I thought it was just turned-up labor pain, but the doctor looked at me and said something I couldn’t hear. Then two nurses took me by the arms and pulled me out of the delivery room. I sat in the waiting room with grandma and grandpa and started pounding those horrible little free cups of coffee they give you. It tasted so bad, they just sit on the burner all day, and they didn’t have cream or sugar, just sweet'n low. My mouth felt like battery acid after a while. Anyway, they came out and told me about you first. They said you were healthy baby girl, breathing evenly, no defects or complications. But they said it like it was bad news.” 

Sarah wiped a tear from her eye. “Jesus.” 

“I don’t regret it. It was the worse day of my life and the best day of my life. It doesn’t make sense when I say it like that, but you really were perfect. You still are.” 

Sarah felt shame for her wrists in a way she never had before. Years ago, she'd helped someone heal their scars, but not alone. The next day she showed them to Lirio and asked if there was a way to cure them.

“I’m afraid not. I’ve never seen any spell with that precise intention, but maybe we could research it together. You could always implore your higher power, but that’s a little superficial, don’t you think? Those scars are the mark of a lesson learned.” 

Bonnie trembled in front of the fire place, rocking back and fourth, raised flesh, teary eyes.

 _Manon, take my scars. Please take my scars. Take my scars._

Not every scar was a good lesson. 

Sarah bought bangles from Lirio’s jewelry section and kept them out of sight for now. 

At the end of her freshmen year, she got a brochure for on campus living. It was just time. Her and dad were closer than ever, but that was the problem. He was practically alienating her stepmom, and Sarah hadn’t made a single friend since... 

_"How do you enter the circle?"_

Since forever. 

She just couldn’t justify it anymore. She couldn’t even remember how to make friends. Living on campus would at least set a catalyst. Sarah climbed the campus stairs with bags in both hands, Dad lugging her trunk behind her. She already missed him, even with him standing right there. They dropped her bags into the bedroom and she walked him to the door. She didn't need emphatic spells to feel the sadness behind his proud, strained smile. 

“I timed it on the way here, it’s twenty-three minutes if you take the express way and beat rush hour.” 

Sarah smiled. “I know. Thank you so much.” 

He gave her a crushing hug. “What am I going to do without you?” 

“Dad, it’s college not...Canada. I’ll be home for dinner on Friday.” 

"You bet.” He glanced around at the underwhelming little room and pointed to an empty credenza in front of the sofa. “Want me to bring your TV? I can be right back.” 

She opened the door for him, “Maaaybe next weekend. My roommate might have one and she’ll be here any minute.” 

“Okay, okay. Call tomorrow. Let me know you’re getting settled in.” 

He forgot to tell her something twice before he actually left. The third time, she almost shouted at a 4’11 Polynesian girl with blunt bangs long black hair braided losely over her shoulder. She trudged in with a rolling suitcase in one hand and two duffel bags on her back. 

“Daad—Oh. Sorry. You’re not dad.” 

“Heh. Nope. I’m Nancy.” 

_“...Nancy?”_

“ _Nani._ Nani Kairo. I’m new this year. I was supposed to be at UHM, but my mom got offered a teaching spot here, sooo, here I am.” 

Sarah’s eyes fluttered, embarrassed. “Nani. Got it. Your mom came all the way out here to teach?” 

Now Nani’s eyes fluttered, unconscious mirroring. “My soon-to-be stepdad is the sociology professor. They met at a conference and he got my out-of-state tuition fees waved to get her down here.” 

“Oh. That’s cool.” 

“It’s something. Anyway, I’m going to unpack. I brought about forty pounds of noodles. You can help yourself to the top ramen but anything that says spicy or has black packaging with the little red pepper is mine.” 

Nani plopped her bags down and shut the door behind her. 

So much for making friends. Better than nothing. Maybe she could lure her out with a pizza later. 

Nani. Sarah had heard Nancy, she was sure of it, she just wasn’t sure how. She laid in the stiff, freshly sheeted twin bed and let her mind wander into the past. A girl with black hair, black eyes, and a black heart walked through the halls of St. Benedicts Catholic School, trailing rage and power behind her. 

Sarah felt the tip of a cold blade against her breast bone. 

She’d entered a circle a long time ago, pledging perfect love and perfect trust. The love was corrupted by a subtle, unconscious fear, thus destroying the trust. 

Sarah inhaled and rubbed cold, phantom pressure on her chest. It didn’t really matter how she entered that circle, because of Nancy. She took their powers to a dark, evil place of manipulation and hate. She’d corrupted the circle first. 

The pin-prick of pain wouldn’t stop.


	2. True West

Sarah inhaled, slow and conscious. Warm tobacco leaf. The after burn of incense. Floral soaps. Salts. Aloe and cactus in freshly watered soil. Old paper. Tea leaves.  
It blended together, compelling her senses like an old folk hymn.  


When she opened her eyes, Lirio stood beaming. "I thought you'd be in today. One of your books arrived this morning, and the copper chloride."  


_"Yes!"_  


"Is that for purification or something else?"  


Sarah leaned on the staircase and strummed her fingers along the pewter wind chimes hanging along the banister. "I'm not sure yet. I read that Essential Alchemist book and I'm trying to collect the recommended list of ingredients. Some of it is hard to get. If I even try, they'll put me on an FBI watch list."  


Lirio nodded. "Drug dealers are alchemists too. There are special servers you can use to hide your online presence, but I can get you what you need for now. Wont be cheap."  


"No, I know. Just getting things here and there when I can. I figure if I start now—"  


"You'll eventually have what you need, when you need it."  


Lirio winked.  


Sarah worked the back shipment onto the sales floor, moved around some display tables, and helped customers during the small evening rush. She never had a schedule, and never cashed a check. Her payment came at the end of the night as a free lesson or a Fedex box wrapped in crinkled packing tape. Lirio snuck in little gits too. Bundles of sage, tea lights, maybe the occasionally pair of ear rings or headband that made her think of Sarah.  


After closing, Lirio pushed her latest order on the edge of the counter so she wouldn’t forget it.  


"Thanks again. I already have a quiz next week, so I might be a little late on Wednesday."  


"Come around and eat before you leave. I ordered vegetable fried rice and sushi and it's too much."  
Sarah worked her way behind the counter and sat in the second office chair, intercepting the to-go containers, breaking open a pair of paper-wrapped chopsticks.  


"What's this song? I like the sound."  


Her mentor swiveled toward the stereo and handed Sarah an empty CD case with green album art.  


_"The Ugly Organ."_  


"You can take it with you, I rip it onto the computer already. It's good. They're revitalizing the old stories. Singing out their pain, reminding the world not to forget them."  


Sarah rubbed her chopsticks together, popped a sushi roll into her mouth. Crab, cream cheese, avocado, spicy mayo, rice, and tempura crumbles.  
As she ate, a swath of lyrics ebbed up through the melancholy music.  


_But maybe I don't want to finish anything anymore. Maybe I can wait in bed until she comes home and Whispers, "You're in my web now - I've come to wrap you up tight 'til it's time to bite down."_  


The last line was a taunting, sing-song lull.  


Nancy's black lips curled into a smile as she leaned over Sarah’s shoulder, singing those words in her ear.  


She dropped the chopsticks and pushed off from the counter, swirling in the chair. No one was behind her. Lirio looked up from her food and raised an eyebrow.   


"What happened?"  


On the shelf, a book title caught her eye. _Invocation of the Spirit._  


"Hey. I thought you said this was out of print."  


Lirio turned back to her fried rice, meticulously picking at a long stem of sugar peas. "It is out of print."  


She took the book off the shelf and Lirio hopped up, plucked it out of her hand. "Don't. It's my only copy, and there's nothing in this book I haven't taught you myself."  


"Can I at least look at it?"  


"I don't think so."  


Sarah folded her arms. "What is this? I thought you trusted me."  


Lirio pressed her thin lips together, gathering patience. "I do trust you."

The silence stretched. Lirio refused eye contact, and finally turned and crammed the book into a drawer beneath the cash register.  
"I wonder if I have to explain all of my decisions to a youth, or if I'm granted any respect as a friend and mentor."  


... 

"...I'm sorry, what did I do exactly?"  


Lirio pressed her hands together in front of her face, a frustrated prayer.  


Sarah flushed, confused. She suddenly felt like a trespasser. "You know what? I think I should get going."  


Lirio's hands dropped and she nodded, relieved. She snapped the CD back in its case, folded the little flaps of the take-out boxes, and put everything in a bag with Sarah's shipment.  


She held it out to her with a sympathetic face. "I don't mean for us to leave with poison in the air. Come back next week. I'll order dinner again. We can read your tarot, and we can do a blessing for your academics. You don't even have to work, I’ll do the evening rush alone."  


Sarah took the bag without looking at her. This wasn't trust, it was deceitful pacifying. She took a few steps out, but stopped with her hand on the door.  
"I thought about Bonnie this week. Right here in your store. And Nancy, I thought of her twice, and I now I can't help but think of Rochelle. I haven't thought of any of them in nearly three years. Do you know anything about that?"  


Lirio stepped into the door frame, reclaiming the entry from Sarah.  


"You know well, if a witch meditates, a witch manifests. Reconsider your focuses. It does not due to dwell on the past."

The door closed and the lights dimmed behind her. 

_Manifest?_ Bullshit. This had nothing to do with her meditations and she certainly wasn’t dwelling on anything. She started toward the car but stopped as her eyes met those of a weary vagabond. He wore a holey Led Zeppelin shirt and his thinning hair sprung out in all directions. Dirt mixed with his summer-bronzed skin and settled in the lines of his face. 

“Change, miss?” 

She reached into her pocket and realized she only had her card. Instead, she fished out the fried rice and sushi. 

“It’s all I have.” 

He reached out, and a tiny white nub slithered out of his tee-shirt sleeve and blinked at Sarah with shiny, blood colored eyes. 

_“Ahk!”_

“I’m sorry miss, it’s just my little friend Popcorn. He don’t bite. I called him popcorn since he’s a corn snake. Get it? Pop _corn_. That pet shop on River street shut down from the health department finding all that rat dookie and they just threw the snakes and lizards into the trees and bushes. Sorry teenagers. Poppy don’t bite.” 

Sarah looked at the snake. Strong muscles pushed the pen-thin body up the man’s arm, creeping toward his wrist. It lifted itself up, searching for a branch, not finding it, wavering awkwardly. 

It...it was sort of cute. 

“That’s really mean. They shouldn’t’ve done that. Guess that makes you a hero.” 

The man looked at the snake. “I wish I could say that. Probably it’s not good for a snake to only live on a man’s arm. It’s selfish.” 

Sarah shook her head. “Some kid would’ve found it and put it in a jar and suffocated it. Or some snotty lady off Melrose would’ve freaked out and stomped on him with her heels. He’s as good with you as anywhere.” 

The man set the Chinese food down and looked at her with grateful, endearing eyes. 

“Have you been feeding him?” 

The man frowned, diverted his eyes. “Not so good. There’s no short supply of mice near the dumpsters but he needs the little ones. He’s too small to eat the big ones. Maybe he should go with you. Would you take care of him?” 

Sarah took a step back. There were some prejudices a person just couldn’t unlearn. 

“No, no, I live in a dorm. They wouldn’t let me keep him if I wanted to.” 

She stared at the little creature and saw a flake of skin shedding along the back of its neck. 

“Hey, can you get that little piece of skin for me? I know it sounds gross, but my kid brother collects stuff like that.” 

The man happily obliged, gently rubbing his thumb along the scales, freeing the dead flesh. She tucked the scrap of skin in her bag, making sure it landed on top so as not to crush. 

“I work at a bookstore once a week. Are you usually here? I’ll grab one of the small mice on my way and drop it off on my next shift. Maybe get you a pizza?” 

The man smiled from ear to ear. “I’m usually up or down the boulevard somewhere. Sometimes I get to a motel, but the Mcdonald gives me free coffee so I stay close.” 

He pronounced boulevard, bull-vard. 

Sarah nodded. “Okay. I’ll keep an eye out. What’s your name?” 

“Toby Johnathan Morris.” 

“Okay. Next week, we’ll get your little guy all set up. You enjoy the food.” 

The man raised the snake up to his own eyes. “See, I told you she was a nice good lady, didn’t I, Popcorn. He wasn’t sure about you at first, but I told him. I had a dream about you.” 

Of course he had. The words hit Sarah like a shred of Catholic scripture, weighty and familiar. 

“And in the dream, I died.” 

The man frowned. “No ma’am. In my dream, you were wearing a crown, but you gave it away. Kind of funny, huh?” 

Funny... 

“I guess so. You be careful mister.” 

“You be careful too. Thank you!” 

Sarah smiled and hurried back to her car. The last time this happened, she’d ended a life. This time, she’d help one along. 

Before she got into the car, a hauntingly cold breeze touched her neck—frigid forty-degree cold penetrating the California evening burn. She gasped, turned on her heel. Nothing and no one, but an overwhelming wave of ocean brine billowed through the cold. A faint mist touched her out of thin air and freckled her skin. She touched her face and saw the moisture on finger tips. 

She wasn’t far from the beach, but nowhere near this close. Her hand groped around her purse, pulled out a military-style compass her dad bought for her at the observatory, and held it toward the smell of salt and spray of sea. 

True West. 

“Rochelle.” 

The cold vanished, leaving her in a muggy pocket of heat. Instead of getting on the freeway back to the dorm, she turned onto 405. It was late for a drive to the beach, but she’d had enough cryptic whispers. She needed answers.


	3. A Meeting Of Two

There was something about the ocean that suppressed human reality. 

Despite a world of hymenopteric streets, sky-tinged buildings, and synthetic star light in every corner of the dark, humanity couldn’t quite leave that same mark on the sea. 

They pillaged her resources, rode her waves, and poisoned her with oil and toxin. She still beat the sands with magnanimous rolling fists, roaring, screaming. 

In her season, she’d rise with the moon over her shoulder and the guardians of the watchtowers of the East at her back, striding with perfect indifference through every human boundary. A toss of her white-cap hair would send an entire city into frigid depths. 

As her grief rescinded, exhausted, so did her rolling shores. Humans would always rebuild, that was their way. She would be back too. That was her way. 

Just smelling the salt in the air put a fierce energy in Sarah’s blood. The hair on her arms raised, her heart throbbed, and her hands incensed with power. 

_I could draw a wave right up to feet right now if I wanted._

She took a deep breath, overcome with inebriated energy. She’d felt it before at this same beach, surrounded by her coven, calling to the forces of Earth. There was a looming sadness in that too. A sense of them belonging together, and being strangers now. 

_That isn’t on me, they acted like caddy bitches and tried to kill me! Nancy’s stepdad died, and Chris..._

Then, from somewhere deep in her mind. _”Then why are you here?_

… 

_“Because something brought me here.”_

She took off her socks and sneakers and set them on the hood of her car. Soft, textured dry sand shifted under the pads of her bare feet, carrying her to the hard, sea drenched silt. 

Rachelle stood shin-deep in the silvery sea, the moon hanging over her head like an ornament. Her hair was the same stylish spiraled curls, a bit longer now. Her arms and calves had a little more muscle. She wore tattered denim shorts and a rosy sleeveless blouse. Sarah tiptoed to the breach of water and cupped her hands to her mouth. 

“Hey!” 

Rochelle turned around and started toward her. “Hey yourself.” 

Instinctively, Sarah walked closer to Rochelle and the waves lapped over her feet. 

Several seconds went by, but Sarah couldn’t muster any words. Rochelle breathed in, put her hands in her pockets. 

“You must’ve really needed to talk. Sending me signals, coming out all this way, and now you’re tongue-tied.” 

She shook her head. “You sent me signals. I got a blast of ocean spray an hour ago in an alley way.” 

“Not from me. I woke up with mounds of garden soil in my bed sheets. Explain that.” 

Sarah leaned down, rolled the legs of her jeans up to her knees. When she came up, Rochelle was looking out at the waves. “It’s Nancy isn’t it. Visions and signs were kind of her thing. I should’ve known.” 

“Well if it’s Nancy, we’re probably not safe. We should cast a binding. Or a protection aura.” 

Rochelle shook her head. “So, you’re still in _that_ place." 

Sarah winced. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Rochelle trotted further out, kicking up lackadaisical little splashes. “Sorry. It’s hard not to be bitter about it. You were supposed to be our fourth. Instead you drained my power. Broke us apart.” 

“...What are you talking about? I was not the one drunk on the power of Manon!” 

Rochelle turned and the moon cast her face in pale light. “I know that. But you weren’t there before. We were messy, and damaged, but we loved each other and did our best to take care of each other. It’s not all on you, but you were brought in by something bigger. What Nancy did—” 

__“Trying to kill me?”_ _

Rochelle raised an eyebrow. “She did something bad. Something unforgivable. But you had the opportunity to draw us back together and you just dropped us. You knew you were our fourth, you knew you had transformative natural power, and what did it all amount to? Just a big salty clap back? I mean, think about it. We came to you humiliated and power stripped after our soul-sick Priestess used us as pawns and what did you do? You dropped a fucking tree branch on us. Sarah Bailey’s the baddest witch of em all. Roll Credits.” 

Sarah scoffed, shook her head. “So you guys try to kill me, and I'm supposed to embrace you the next day with open arms?” 

Rochelle trudged back toward Sarah. “Yeah. That’s transcendence. That’s healing. We came to you and trusted you to make things right. There was a loving coven before you, but there was nothing after you. From what I could tell, we all wound up alone. You just...don’t get it. The stars and planets lined up for your arrival and you squandered it. Me, I fucked up. I let a very damaged, broken person use me. I let her poison my joy and my intentions. I have to answer for that. What are you answering for?” 

Rochelle started toward the shore. Sarah followed, turning over hazy memories buried beneath the last three years. “Hey! I was just a kid, you know. I’d just come into using those powers with any kind of major intention for the first time. I was proud of myself that I was even able to stand against Nancy! She didn’t just come for me, she killed her step dad. And she killed Chris...” 

Rochelle nodded. “I won't take that from you. Terrible things happened and you tried to warn us. I regret everything about that night. Sometimes I’ll remember the look on your face when you saw that glamor of the plane crash and I’ll feel sick. Then I’ll remember how I laughed at you, and get even sicker. I don’t like me like that. I just wonder what it was all even for. Haven’t you reflected on that night at all?” 

Sarah had, truly, but she’d been studying the craft, working through high school and college work, putting spells into place to secure her family, and repairing her relationship with her dad. If a memory of one of her old friends happened to bubble up to the surface of her mind, she’d smash it down. She didn’t need them. She didn’t need anyone. 

__

__In order to be strong, you had to be self-sufficient. It was like Lirio told her, a coven’s true purpose is multiplied power. If you’re sufficient in your own power, you needn’t behold to the favor of some lunatic priestess._ _

__

__“You’re in college, right? What are you studying?”_ _

__

__Sarah blinked, brushed the bangs out of her eyes. “Astronomy.”_ _

__

__“Fitting.”_ _

__

__“What about you?”_ _

__

__“Third year of my psychology PhD. I'm getting my doctorate.”_ _

__

__“Rochelle, that’s amazing. Wait...how are you on your third year?”_ _

__

__She put her hands in her pockets, lead them into a walk down the shore. “I didn’t move when I left Saint Benny’s. I switched to home schooling on an early graduation program. I didn’t want to see anybody after Bonnie transferred to that military prep school and started hanging out with Scott Cargan. She didn’t _exactly < /em> blow me off, but she did. I was an afterthought. It was like without our powers, we had no connection anymore. That broke my heart. I spent all my time trying to finish school and get my powers back.” __ _

__

___“How’d you do it?”_ _ _

__

___She looked up at moon, then nodded at the sea. “Here. I just drew it all back in, little by little. Did a lot of meditating on our rise and fall. What I did wrong. What I should’ve realized sooner. Power is like a battery. I needed to fill myself again.”_ _ _

__

___“Rochelle, I think it’s great that you’re so...accountable. But I mean, what could we have done? Nancy was crazy. She was absolutely *crazy*. I don’t think I’m wrong to think we should start a binding spell before she gets any more powerful than she already is.”__ _

__

____The witch of the West rolled her whole head back in frustration, groaning. “You still don’t get it. She’s not the problem! Ours was a coven of four, with Nancy at the helm. There is no reparation unless it includes her. Nancy is not your enemy. She’s your priestess. And as someone well-versed in psychology, she needs help. Below that insanity, there’s a person in there. Doesn’t that matter?”_ _ _ _

__

____Sarah stopped. “...You’re joking. She tried to kill me!”_ _ _ _

__

____“You keep saying that, but look where it got her. We’ve spent the last three years free and thriving. How's Nancy been doing? And what did her life look like before you walked into it? Have you ever once considered what made her do the things she did?”_ _ _ _

__

____She shook her head. “I didn’t make Nancy’s life hard.”_ _ _ _

__

____“You are...committed to misunderstanding me and I'm tired, Sarah. Here’s what it comes down to. You got a call. I got a call. Are we going to answer it or not?”_ _ _ _

__

____The waves drowned the silence in rhythmic crashes, foam fizzing along the sand._ _ _ _

__

____“I’m not sure about this. I need to think about it.”_ _ _ _

__

____Rochelle nodded. “I let this go wrong once. I’m not doing that again. You do you.”_ _ _ _

__

____“What are you going to do?”_ _ _ _

__

____She shrugged. “After I woke up with soil in my sheets, I decided to come out here and think, and who should appear but you. I don’t know if it was Nancy, or even Manon. I guess my next move is to find Bonnie.”_ _ _ _

__

____Sarah nodded. “I’m not promising anything but I wouldn’t mind seeing her. Can I come with you?”_ _ _ _

__

____“Walk me to my car and I’ll give you my number.”_ _ _ _

__

____Being in Rochelle’s presence was surreal and familiar all at once. Sara felt the blissful sting of chaotic, youthful energy. The waves jumped up higher as the moon waned in the sky, all in tandem, all in their purpose. Sarah felt them. She felt home. But underneath that, a little afraid._ _ _ _

__


	4. Dirty South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Please See Chapter Notes For Content Advisory, as some descriptions may contain upsetting/triggering imagery and language* 
> 
> I also want to thank the kind commenters/kudos, and apologize for slow output. I do a lot of original work, but I don't plan on abandoning this. It's a lot of fun and it means a lot to me. Thank you for reading ^_^;
> 
> I'm pretty new to AO3, so please bare with me while I learn formatting. Thank you <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Advisory**  
> Mild blood, description of injury, brief discussion on eating disorder/bulimia

#### \------------------------------------------------------ 4 

The weekend came and went. 

When she skipped her Wednesday shift, Sarah let her boss’s calls go to voicemail. Lirio sighed into the receiver after the beep. _“Where have you been, Sarah? Are you really still mad? I taught you never to take a circumstance so personal. I behaved badly, but I can’t talk to you about it if you hide. Don’t make this about you. Call me back when you get this.”_

It was true, her mentor constantly reinforced the notion that nothing in this life was personal. If someone hurt you, even intentionally, it represented a problem with the inner self, not a problem with the inflicted subject. All things put into the world would come back threefold. _Good witches, be not beholden to a grudge._

Lirio was an absolutist. In the past, she encouraged Sarah to burn the bridge of her old coven. They were bad girls with malevolent intent. With that in mind, Sarah just wasn’t ready to talk about what was happening, she hardly understood it herself. Maybe finding Bonnie would bring some clarity to all this. 

On Tuesday, Rochelle called Bonnie’s old landline, drove by her old house, and even stopped by the outlet mall where Bonnie’s mom used to work. It was like the Hyper family had been erased. 

On Friday, Rochelle knocked on Sarah’s door with a laptop under her arm. 

“Where can I plug this in?” 

They sat at her dorm-fitted dining table for two, and lumped in close in front of the screen. 

A beautiful, albeit blurry, Bonnie Hyper rocked the upper left corner of a Myspace page, one knee kicked up against an amplifier, her old Saint Benny’s skirt falling up her thigh. A glittery orange base guitar rested on her knee, and her tongue tucked just beneath her top teeth. An eternal *La*. 

Her Top Friends were all local bands and pubs. 

“Holy shit. There she is.” 

“Yeah, but the real key is her friend’s list. The bars are local, which means she didn’t move to Canada or something. This is _her band._ ” 

Rochelle hovered over Bonnie’s number one friend, Venefica Inferno, and clicked. 

The default featured the whole band, Bonnie in the middle, a tall guy directly behind her, and two slightly shorter men on her left and right. Clad in tight, gray-green, gold-studded military jackets and their faces laden with eyeliner, the men struck mean rock star poses with stuck out chins, eyebrows turned down for scowl. The one on the left looked away from the camera like he couldn’t be bothered with photos, too busy entertaining the wrathful lyrics in his head and showcasing that heavenly jawline. 

Bonnie wore a matching jacket, but hers was unzipped to her Saint Benedict's blouse and pleated skirt. She was the only one smiling, a suggestive smirk complimented with a foreword lean, both hands on her hips. The sides of her hair were buzzed, framing a feathery, feminine brunette mohawk with fiery orange tips. 

Lyrics offset the default photo in quotations, “Can’t be sanctified if the lamb is lame, can’t be a prisoner to my father’s shame!” then in asterisks, **FRIDAY SET AT THE JOLLY ROGER 8PM – NO COVER – SHIRTS/CDS BACK IN STOCK** 

Rochelle scrolled and drum sticks clacked through the laptop speakers, summoning hard thrashing electric riffs and an authoritative, rhythmic bassline. She tried to scroll back up to lower the volume on the auto-play, but the page froze and the song played on. 

“Damn it. Buffering.” 

The vocalist came in with masculine vocals, not too far from Billie Joe Armstrong, angrier though, and liquor-scorched from playing the bar circuit. Bonnie came in on the chorus for a raging femme accompaniment, scream-singing with a silken, smoky voice, angry enough to inspire passion but smooth enough to obey melody and highlight the chorus in stunning contingence. A flower blooming along the violent surface of a cactus. 

“They’re really good. Did you know she could sing?” 

Rochelle stared at the screen, but her eyes were distant. “Yeah.” 

The page finally caught up and reloaded. 

“She looks good, right? She’s at least...doing something she loves?” 

That made Rochelle smile, but it was wistful. “She does look good. She’d flinch whenever I cut her dead ends, I can’t believe she’s gone full mohawk.” 

“Guess that’s just the scene—” 

“And died hair? Little Miss Melrose Avenue?” 

Sarah withdrew from the screen, reclining. “We’ve all changed a little.” 

“A little! She’s....this is way past _a little._ I could see her as a Britney or Christina, I was not expecting Joan Jett.” 

Sarah tucked a length of hair behind an ear. “You mentioned she kind of blew you off back in school. Maybe she was going through big changes back then and this is, you know, the outcome.” 

Rochelle nodded. “Did you know I knew her first? Me and Bonnie met in 7th grade, Nancy hadn’t even moved to LA yet. I...at the time, I was going through some stuff. I wasn’t eating, and if I had to eat, I threw it up. I didn’t even have to use a finger, I was so disgusted by food, it just came right back up. When she caught me in the bathroom, I lied about it. The second time, she knew what was going on. She didn’t tell on me, but she made me eat something small at lunch with her every day. She started with an apple. While I ate, she’d tell me how healthy they were so I didn’t get grossed out. And if I didn’t show up, she always managed to find me. It was like she had a radar or something. One day she told me she was reading a book with a spell that could make me as thin as a I wanted. It didn’t work, but other spells did. Later on, she said the thinning spell didn’t work because I was already perfect.” 

Sarah smiled. “She saved you.” 

“We saved each other. I mean, you remember how she was about her back. That was tame compared to junior high, it was so bad. I think if we hadn’t found each other, she would’ve ended it. I think witchcraft gave her the hope she needed to live, but me and Nancy were her reason to live. And you too.” 

Sarah felt a twinge of guilt and shoved off to the kitchen to make some tea, or coffee, anything to keep from just sitting there. Without thinking, she sectioned off half a tube of cookie dough batter and threw it in the oven. 

“Hey, it says this club is in Eagle Rock. We could make it if we left right now.” 

Sarah took the the tea kettle off the heat. “Are you sure we should rush into it? I mean, we did kind of stock her and all. Maybe she’s not having the same visions. She might not even be a witch anymore.” 

“Oh, she’s still a which alright.” 

“How can you tell?” 

“Venefica Inferno. _Fire Witch._ ” 

“No shit?” 

“No shit.” 

Sarah looked at the stove clock—five after 8. Sarah went to change clothes, and the tea went cold. While she did her hair, Rochelle squeezed in for a touch up. She rummaged around Sarah’s makeup bag for mascara, then traded it out for a little eyeliner. The two of them worked hip-to-hip in the small bathroom, blotting lipstick, primping fly-away hairs. 

Rochelle blinked, eyeing her lashes. “What do you think she’ll say when she sees us?” 

“I don’t know what she’ll say when she sees me, but she’ll be happy to see you.” 

“You really think so?” 

Sarah dabbed a hint of lavender sage oil on her wrists, and passed the bottle to Rochelle. 

“I think something good is lining up for us. We’re going to get it right this time.” 

Rochelle dabbed the oil on her wrists too and they headed out the door. The cookies were left on the stove, untouched. 

#### \------------------------------------------------------ Dirty South 

Music beat against the walls of the bar, contained, like a song under water. The bouncer checked his watch and frowned at the women in front of him. 

“Show’s nearly over.” 

Rochelle held up her ID. “That’s cool. We’re just here for a drink.” 

They breathed in a thin veil of weed and cigarette smoke, and caught a glimpse of the aged, tattooed bar flies. They weaved through chill couples and friends perched close to the bar, drinks in hand, bodies poised toward the crowd. A calm, invisible border, indefinite and mutating, marked the breach where casual attendees became fans, nodding heads, off-key sing-alongs. The energy ebbed out into sweating bodies, some jumping, fist pumping, rocking back and forth in obedient rhythmic worship, all in their own choreography but succinct, desperate agreement. They made an invisible force that ripped and sprawled out, then drew back toward the stage like a tide. 

Too estranged to fall too far in, the witches lingered close to the border, nodding, watching their sister in awe. They forgot themselves, only dimly aware that they existed outside of this moment. Echoing amplifier feedback mottled the lyrics, but their _voices. That sound._ How could poison mix so sweetly with antidote? 

Sarah and Rochelle understood the meaning fluently—words need not apply. 

The song lilted, offering conclusion and closure without really answering any of its own questions or keeping any promises. A spell, however you wrote it. 

They didn’t know it, but the half-coven sighed in perfect tandem, as did the whole crowd, even at the back where the patrons seemed safe from the song. As did the band. All finished, satisfied lovers, catching their breath. 

Bonnie looked right at Sarah from the stage, then Rochelle. Both of them. 

The band puttered with their instruments, sipped drinks, wiped sweat off their brows. All except for the slack-jawed bassist who stood frozen in place. 

Sarah waved with a shy half-smile and Rochelle smirked at the absolute disbelief on her face. 

While Bonnie stared, the guitarist grabbed the mic with both hands. “We’re going home to get shit-faced!” Half the crowd cheered. The rest gave a disappointed awe. “Don’t give me that, you motherfuckers have been drinking all night!” 

The crowd laughed, clapped. Some called out song titles for encore. 

“Alright, alright. I don’t have a date yet, but we’ll be at the South Beach Skate Park next month. Add them on Myspace, they’ll have a date. There’s gonna be food, booze, other bands, it’s gonna be insane—get your asses down there. Thank you for coming out tonight. We got merch and CD’s at the door. I’m Chris, lead guitar, that’s Bonnie on bass and vocals, Foster—vocals and keyboard, Tim on drums. We’re Venefica Inferno!” 

The drummer clacked his sticks. Bonnie broke her gaze, suddenly aware she was in a band. She came in late, but found her rhythm again. They played their single, the one most of the fans called out during the interlude. Even the bartender sang along. 

Toward the end of the song, Rochelle nudged Sarah, nodded for her to follow. 

She led her through the crowd, somehow opening narrow paths through the congested moshers. As the song finished out, they arrived at the far-right side of the stage, wedged against a massive amplifier. They could see the show from there, but it was an uneven, sideways view of just the guitarist, and the drummer. Rochelle threw a leg over a waist-high metal barrier that guarded a tiny set of steps. She looked around to make sure no one noticed, then swung the other leg over and hopped down. 

“Rochelle!” 

“They’re not the Rolling Stones, nobody’s gonna care. Come on, hurry up.” 

Sarah followed, and they climbed the steps and trudged into a black hallway. Cords wrapped around every corner and climbed up the ceiling like vine. The curtain divided off just enough space for equipment storage and a direct exit to the alley. 

“We could’ve just waited for them to finish. Bonnie saw us, she would’ve come out to talk.” 

“Do you really want to stand there tryin to get a word in while every dude in this place is sending her drinks, tryin to get their little T-shirts and CD’s signed? You can’t be a normal woman in a bar, let alone a hot bass player.” 

“We should’ve brought beer. We might at least pass for waitresses.” 

The song ended and the crowd gave one long, final roar. The drummer appeared on the left and traced an electrical cable to a surge protector near the door, unplugged it, and worked the cord around his arm. He saw Sarah and Rochelle and dropped his face, zoomed in on the task to deliberately avoid eye contact. 

Sarah wondered if they should introduce themselves as Bonnie’s friends, but it burned like a lie before it even left her mouth. Were they friends? 

Rochelle looked around and planted herself against a corner, out of the way. Sarah stowed away beside her. The band packed up the disjointed parts of their instruments into massive black cases, fast, but with the deliberate care of morticians laying bodies into coffins. Bonnie saw the half-coven, and they swelled with the anticipation of greeting, but she resumed her work without acknowledgement. Occasionally, the band members stopped and whispered something to one another—Sarah got the distinct feeling they were asking each other if anyone knew the weirdos in the corner. 

With everything packed, the guitarist leaned against the crash bar and held the door open. Billows of cold fog and moonlight spilled out and curled around their equipment. 

_“What do we do?”_ Sarah whispered. 

_“I don’t know. We have to say something, they’ll leave!”_

Sarah took a deep breath, gathered her nerves. She stepped off the wall and approached the band just in time for Bonnie to pick up two guitar cases and head out the door. Sarah stood there with wide eyes while all the guys looked up, waited for her to say something. 

“Just...need to talk to Bonnie.” 

The guitarist looked away like he hadn’t heard and the other two grabbed their equipment and shoved off. When everyone was out, he slipped out behind them and the door stalled to a close. Bonnie’s hand caught it and swung it back open moments before it hit the frame. 

... 

“Well?” 

Sarah took a step back. “...We just want to talk.” 

“I can see that. Well, sort of, you haven’t actually _said_ anything.” 

Rochelle stepped up, tucked a few of her curls behind her ear. “Bonnie?” 

The two stared at each other for a moment, then Bonnie glanced at the van parked in the alley. “If either of you have something to say, you better say it. We’ve got a date with Waffle House,” she craned her neck, eyed the corner behind Rochelle, “Where is she?” 

“Who?” Rochelle asked. 

Bonnie scoffed. “You know who. _Nancy._ ” 

They exchanged glances. Sarah shrugged. “We don’t exactly know yet. We both just kind of...we both had...” 

“ _An experience,_ ” Rochelle reached into her pocket and pulled out a little vial of dirt, “I found soil in my bed. She felt a sea breeze on her face. We both wound up at the beach, at the exact same place where we...summoned Manon. We think Nancy had something to do with it, but we haven’t seen her yet. We figured we’d ask if you’d experienced something.” 

“I saw her with you. She was standing right in front of you in the crowd, she looked right at me.” 

Sarah caught a chill, stepped away from the door despite knowing it wasn't the wind. “She’s not here, at least not with us. We came alone, just the two of us. I haven’t seen Nancy since...since school.” 

“You saw her just now? How’d she look?” Rochelle asked. 

Bonnie considered, shrugged. “Like Nancy. Black hair, black lips. Goth bitch wonder.” 

The girls, groaned, hissed, clutched their chests. Bright pain punctured their skin like a blade between their collar bones and glowered like a flame. 

“SHIT!” Bonnie cried. 

Sarah looked at throbbing spot on chest and saw blood run down her shirt. They all looked at each other with hands over their wounds, blood seeping through their hands and clothes. 

“Come on. There’s a bathroom over here.” 

Bonnie stepped over an amplifier and led them around the stage into a cramped, single stall bathroom with a CREW AND EMPLOYEES ONLY sign on the door. She yanked a corroded metal pull-string and a fraction of sickly gray light flickered out of an old, gray bulb. Stickers with band logos and skater shoe brands smothered the pale, chalky white walls and ceiling. Occasional wide-lettered sharpie graffiti broke through the margins to insist lovers and territory. Dogs in heat. 

What little of the cracked mirror that wasn’t covered in stickers and sharpie, reflected three witches as they unfurled a dollar store roll of paper towels and shoved wads of it under the water. They wiped the blood off their chests and hands, pointed out spots one another might’ve missed. Sarah hissed, pressing a fresh, dry towel against her wound. Rochelle leaned down into the sink to flush a trail of tackily dried blood off the side of her neck. Bonnie switched places with her and worked the stubborn lines of red out from under her long, guitar-ready finger nails. 

Sarah sighed, leaned against the filthy metal grab-bar. “So. I guess I’m going to be the one to say it. She’s still _fucking_ crazy.” 

Rochelle flashed an icy look. “That must’ve been really hard for you.” 

Sarah’s lip raised in disgust, nostrils flared. 

“She’s right, isn’t she? Look at this! You bitches walk into my life for ten seconds!” 

“ _Bitches?_ Okay, let’s see. You _abandoned_ my ass when I needed you most, but I drive all over Los Angeles and Santa Monica looking for you and your family so that we could come back together, scouring the internet for the slightest shred of proof that you still exist, but I’m a _bitch_ now?” 

Bonnie grabbed an extra paper towel and pressed it against the bloody one. “I _never_ asked you to come find me. I’m still trying to put my life back together after the last time you lunatics crossed my path. Why do you think we fucking moved? Take a hint!” 

Rochelle, smiled, infuriated, “That’s something _else_ , Hyper, because I seem to remember someone so crippled by her own scars, she—” 

“How dare you talk about my scars! Don’t even—” 

“ _GUYS!_ This was exactly what wasn’t supposed to happen, we’re not supposed to...” 

She’d let her hand drop off the wound and caught a glimpse of it in the mirror. In long, slender lines, an unmistakable letter carved into her chest. 

Rochelle leaned forward for a closer look. “H?” 

Bonnie moved her paper towels and leaned up to the mirror. “L.” 

They both looked at Rochelle’s. 

“It’s an E. Backwards though, like Eminem.” said Bonnie. 

Rochelle raised a brow. “Your L is backwards too, otherwise it would’ve looked wrong in the mirror. As if you listen to Eminem, punk rock.” 

“Don’t put me in a box, I like everything.” 

The three looked at their reflections in the cracked, paper-towel cloven hands rested at the base of red, swollen, cat-scratched backwards letters. 

Sarah shook her head. “Gimme an H, Gimme an L, Gimme an E, E, E. What’ve we got?” 

Bonnie grimaced. “ _H L EEE?_ ” 

Rochelle stepped back, moved Sarah to the left like an oversized chess piece, and stepped into center. H, E, L, and a fortuitous band logo finished it out with a solitary, black, Old English style P. 

Bonnie’s ‘L’ oozed red with blood. She put her paper towel wad back over it right before her cell phone chirped. She skimmed the text and sighed at her strange, injured reunion of would-be friends. 

“There are some fans asking for me at the booth. I have to go or else I’ll have to start bartending before and after these things again. I’ve got some big band-aides in a travel first aid kit in the van. I’ll patch us up first, and if you can wait, I don’t know, thirty minutes? I’ll treat you to French toast and coffee.” 

Rochelle and Sarah looked at each other, back at Bonnie. 

And then there were three.


End file.
